


i love you till the dying of the light

by halcyin



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Angst, Fake AH Crew, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Ray has trouble saying I love you, there's some fluff tho!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-11
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:34:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6539191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyin/pseuds/halcyin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first and last time Ryan heard Ray say "I love you".</p>
            </blockquote>





	i love you till the dying of the light

**Author's Note:**

> hi!!! i've had this sitting in my docs awhile and i noticed the draft was going to expire tomorrow, so i decided to post it. it's been barely proof read or reread, and i had rewritten nothing, so, bare with me for this one. enjoy!!!

I. There are words left unsaid.

There are _always_ words left unsaid between Ray and Ryan.

In any case, it’s usually always the same three words. The same sentence. The same thought.

After years of lying through his teeth, saying those three words over and over again to people he couldn’t give a shit about, saying them to Ryan feels like life and death.

He will keep on living if the words remain locked up inside, but this world will fall appear at the seams if they dare to come across his tongue. Even the thought of alone causes regret and heartbreak in his chest.

He doesn’t want the the cycle to repeat. He doesn’t want the same thing happening to Ryan.

Ray assumes it’s the trauma of past relationships, the thought of trusting someone wholly especially in their line of work, but Ray does love Ryan. Ray trusts Ryan with his life. Nonetheless, the words fail to come out, they die on the tip of his tongue, and just the thought of uttering them make Ray’s stomach filled with dread.

Maybe he can’t verbally say, he can’t break through the cycle, but there are other ways that he hopes he conveys his love to Ryan.

It’s shown in the days that Ryan holds him close to his chest, the moments where Ray can bury his head underneath Ryan's and be encased by his warmth.

It’s in the times when they’re drenched in sweat, coming down from their highs, the times when Ray’s breathing is like roaring in Ryan’s ear and clinging onto his shoulders like it’s the end of the world.

Ryan’s the sweetness in Ray’s life, the spoonful of honey dipped into a glass of bitter tea.

It’s enough to keep him grounded, it’s enough for Ray to not be consumed by the hopeless at the notion of being able to give Ryan what he believes he deserves to know.

 

II. The saltwater, after all these years, shouldn’t sting his eyes. Yet it does, or maybe it’s the sudden flow of emotion that overwhelms Ray’s senses. Being here with him, being this close, it makes Ray feel different, an emotion that he’s not used to feeling. He adores Ryan.

Yeah, there’s something definitely in Ray’s eyes— maybe not tears, God knows when the last time he cried was, but being on the pier with a person who mattered this much to him, it means something.

There’s many things about what’s going at the pier that Ray falls in love with. The wave the waves crash against the stilts, the slosh of the water on the pier as it rains, the neon lights illuminating the dim, grey atmosphere while it rains, and the emptiness due to the sullen weather.

Perhaps it’s also the man next to him that Ray falls in love with all over again. It’s poetically bullshit, but Ray knows he’s infatuated.

The way Ryan looks out on the water and turns his head back to Ray, eyes brightening up with childish wonder. The way that he clasp Ray’s hand in his own calloused hands like it’s his lifeline as he drags him over to the roller coaster, eyes lighting up with puppy-like enthusiasm as he begs Ray that they go on it, at least once.

Everything he does, all the little details of Ryan, make Ray’s insides roar with fire, pleasantly keeping him warm on the coldest of days, such as today.

Here they are, leaning on the railings, overlooking the water, Ryan’s larger hand on top of Ray’s as Ryan scrolls idly through his phone.

It takes minutes for Ray to snap his gaze away from Ryan, and he doesn’t notice Ryan’s eyes glancing over at him.

“Ray,” Ryan begins, and Ray looks out onto the water.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Ryan says, not waiting for a reply that was never going to come.

Ray looks over at him as soon as Ryan lifts his hand, and the second Ray turns to face him, Ryan’s hands are cupping his face.

“I love you,” Ryan murmurs and closes the distance between them.

Ray can feel Ryan’s breath on his face, the brush of his lips against his own. Ray stares back into Ryan’s crystalline blue eyes, the intense love and desire to keep Ray this physically close in his eyes at burns bright. Ray can see the love and admiration and adoration and all of those mythical, magical emotions swarm in his Ryan’s eyes. It’s amazing, how much emotions a pair of eyes can contain, Ray ponders in that moment, and wonders if Ryan sees the same in Ray’s.

Ryan’s eyes are searching his, and Ray’s confidence falters. Maybe Ryan doesn’t see them there, and Ray exhales loudly.

His eyes flutter shut and he leans into Ryan’s touch and moves closer, before Ryan closes the distance and allows their dry lips to press together.

 

III. The sheets under Ray’s fingers are thin. They collect in his lap, pooling and falling around his hips, but his fingers that pull at the hem are testing the notation.

Thankfully, gravity works in his favor, and keeps the blankets where he can mindlessly pick at them with bitten fingernails and chewed skin melds into thin, slender fingers.

He’s been trying to distract himself for the past ten minutes, but it’s hard. He’s tried to peer between the blinds of the motel room, to get a glimpse of the parked cars outside and count the number of neon signs and lights reflected by the cars outside and into their room.

Even the television offered no comfort. The shitty signal paired with the how old it was gave Ray no help, the static of the tv just reminding him of how he felt, just like a collect of television static bullshit.

The sheets and the sound of the running water are the only thing that offer a distraction from his thoughts coupled with the raw, burning of his throat from keeping in the sobs, the streams of tears that leak from his eyes that he wish he could stop.

Thankfully, the water soon stops followed by a clank.

It doesn’t take long for Ryan to step out of the bathroom, light from the bathroom streaming in before it’s quickly turned off as Ryan dries off.

“Ray?”

“Ryan,” Ray mumbles, and tries to keep his voice from letting any seep in, but by the way Ryan leans on the bed and tucks a finger under his chin, Ray assumes it doesn’t work, or Ryan knows him all too well.

Probably both.

“Let me get dressed, okay?”

“Stay here,” Ray says.

Ryan nods. He runs a hand through Ray’s hair and Ray willingly leans into the touch, sighing when Ryan pulls away and rummages through his duffel bag, throwing on a pair of boxers and rubbing the rest of the droplets off.

Ray’s eyes follow him the whole way, the way the muscles in his back move, the way the waistband of the boxers hugs his waist, the way his hair is pulling back into a ponytail that’s dripping ever so slightly.

It only makes Ray’s eyes cloud up more.

“I’m here,” Ryan says softly, and thumbs away Ray’s tears.

“I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry,” Ray says, voice breaking as the flood gates open.

Ryan’s eyes are so soft, and his touch gentle on Ray’s cheek that breaks Ray’s heart even more.

“You don’t have to say it, Ray, it’s okay. I love you too.”

“I’m sorry,” Ray chokes out as Ryan presses their foreheads together and pulls Ray into his lap, bringing the sheets with him.

He wants to believe it so much.

He wants to believe that Ryan knows, but the sheets ripping under Ray’s fingernails tell otherwise.

 

IV. No one on the planet knows Ray better than Ryan.

Ray doesn’t know how he does it.

“How do you know that I hate orange skittles?” Ray asks accusingly as Ryan pushes over a pile of skittles across the coffee table, the orange ones missing.

Ryan grins. “Michael only goes for the orange ones when you have them.”

“They taste like shit.”

“They taste exactly the same,” Ryan laughs.

“Bullshit.” Ray grins.

-

“No, you’re not celebrating with vodka,” Ryan sighs as they gather around the heist table.

Geoff’s frowns, pouting his lip at the man, bottle of said alcohol heavy in his hand.

Michael folds his arms, glaring at Ryan, “Why not?”

“It’s Ray’s least favorite, at least go for something like rum, or gin, or anything but vodka.”

“How the fuck do you know that?” Ray pipes up, glancing up from his DS, earning a laugh from Gavin whose eyes flickers between the two.

“Your nose,” Ryan grins, gesturing to his own nose, “it scrunches up more than usual at it compared to other alcohol.”

Everyone in the heist room giggles, and Ray hides behind his DS, ignoring the grin on Ryan’s face.

-

“You got this, babe,” Ryan says softly.

“Shut up, idiot,” Ray murmurs, resting his elbow on his own knee, hiking it up so his foot is in between the v that Ryan’s legs create on the stool.

Ryan chuckles, grinning at him, “You’re shaking.”

“It’s just pre-show jitters, I’ll be fine, Rye,” Ray grumbles.

Ryan mumbles something under his breath, and Ray chooses to ignore whatever he says.

Ray dips the paintbrush into the container, pulling it out to inspect how much he had gotten onto the fibers. Deeming it right, he brings it up to Ryan’s face, and begins to stroke the brush up and down his boyfriend’s face.

Ryan’s eyes flutter close, straw spun lashes brushing against his cheeks that are dusted lightly pink with blood. Ray focuses on the little details of Ryan’s face, trying to ignore his shaking hands.

He focuses on how easily the brush glides against Ryan’s face, coating his rosy cheeks with deep, dark crimson red, a lovely, royal color that matches the color red that will be most likely splattering Ryan’s black leather jacket in the matter of hours.

The time goes quickly, and soon Ryan’s standing across from the mirror, grinning.

“Thanks Ray, I think this one’s the best by far,” Ryan grins, hands settling on Ray’s hips.

“Oh my god, no kissing! I’m not getting facepaint on me!”

Ryan laughs loudly, leaning closer to Ray.

“You’d look even cuter with it.”

“Hush it, hot shot.”

Ray grins as Ryan laughs, the rumble of Ryan’s voice in his chest and the way his body shakes in laughter makes Ray’s heart thump in his chest, and he hopes Ryan can hear it.

 

V. It’s not the first time that Ray’s been shot. It’s the first he’s been shot with Ryan on the crew, however.

The familiar pain is there, ripping and burning at his skin, yet the way Ryan acts is not.

Ryan doesn’t panic when Ray gets minor cuts, scrapes, and bruises. He rubs alcohol on the open wound, and covers them with Hello Kitty to Spiderman to Spongebob bandaids.

But here and now, the way Ryan holds onto him as if Ray might be gone the next time he blinks, Ray’s almost frightened by how frightened Ryan is.

“I’m not dying,” Ray croaks as Ryan grips him closer to his chest, but Ryan can’t hear him over the roar of Michael’s minigun and the helicopter landing right besides them.

Ray isn’t sure what a crew means to Ryan, because by the way he moves, he doesn’t care for Michael who might get shot in any moment, or Gavin who’s arm is bleeding profusely, his blue eyes are hard under the mask, body tense as he sprints into the back seat of the helicopter with Ray clutched in his arms.

Ray can’t bring himself to think about anyone else at the moment, because, maybe it’s the loss of blood that’s collecting on his purple hoodie and grey shirt underneath, but Ryan’s behavior is intriguing and odd.

As much as Ray wants to know more, darkness consumes his vision before he gets to observe the whole scene.

Although, it feels like moments later when Ray’s eyes blink open once more.

It’s white, pure and blinding, but slowly melts into a hospital room.

But it can’t be, because as soon as Ray feels weight in his own hand, he looks over to his left, and Ryan’s sound asleep, head on the bed and his hand in Ray’s.

They’re criminals, the last place they could go is a hospital.

It doesn’t take long until there’s footsteps, and Ray cocks his head to the side, watching Geoff step into the room and pull up a chair.

“Geoff,” Ray murmurs, throat dry and rough from misuse.

Geoff holds up his palm to stop Ray, offering a small smile.

“Caleb’s been fixing you up.”

“How long has it been?”

“Four days.”

“And Ryan?”

“He’s finally sleeping,” Geoff softly says, “he’s quite the worrier. He loves you, you know.”

“I know,” Ray says quietly, casting his eyes to the side to watch the light catch on Ryan’s hair, the way his body rises and falls with his breathing, the the way his shirt that’s a little too tight to be modest clings to his form, yet bunches up in some places due to his position.

“I know he does,” Ray repeats, slender fingers tightening around Ryan’s.

“He knows you loves him,” Geoff says.

Ray blinks, and processes the words, turning his head to meet Geoff’s steel blue eyes, that are only different from Ryan’s eyes in that one respect.

There’s intensity in Geoff’s own eyes, love and admiration and adoration and mythical and magical emotions. Ray’s seen it before, and Geoff knows that too.

“How do you know?” Ray asks quietly.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you,” Geoff says, placing his hand on top of Ray’s unoccupied one, “and I’ve seen the way you look back.”

 

VI. In their line of work, it’s not surprising when things go wrong.

Blood spills quicker than tears do.

Throats are cut without a second thought.

Backs are stabbed with only the itch to grab the money on the killer’s brain.

It’s a pity, in reality, that Los Santos is overrun by criminals.

Ray dreams, sometimes, about the days of if he was normal. Just your average Joe, stocking shelves at GameStop, if Ryan was just some nerdy IT guy, it the crew were just a collect of friends who found a passion to game together.

Perhaps it could have prevented everything.

Ray dreams. He dreams about the days where saying “I love you” was as easy as saying “fuck off” or “let’s play some games”.

Maybe Ray wouldn’t have fallen in love with Ryan.

Maybe it would have been for the best.

Because here and now, in this moment, Ray’s mouth tastes of copper and the air is humid, clinging to his skin just like the blood is.

The sky above him is grey, dark, and dismal. His brown eyes stare lifelessly up at the sky, reflecting, seeing nothing yet everything at one time.

They’re at the pier, again. It always seems rainy at the pier when it’s the two of them together.

The crew of the crew’s there, Ray thinks, he thinks he can hear Michael’s shouting in the background, overlapped by Jack’s frantic speech.

Then again, with the taste of blood (he thinks that what it is) in his mouth, this all might just be an illusion, and Ryan, curling over him, making guttural sounds that lodged in his throat, might just be a mere figment of his imagination.

Ray wouldn’t be surprised if it was just him on the pier, drifting lifelessly down into the depths of the oceania. He wouldn’t be surprised if he was daydreaming right now, just thinking and pondering and wondering about the day when his story would finally come to a close.

“Ray, please, please stay with me,” Ryan’s voice cuts clean throw Ray’s thoughts.

Ray blinks, narrowing his eyes, damn his vision is blurry, and smiles up at Ryan. His hands cup Ryan’s face. He doesn’t even notice the blood staining his own hands as he stares into Ryan’s eyes, fingers pressing against soft, wet skin.

The edges of Ray’s vision looks glassy and dark.

“I love you,” Ray murmurs, words unfamiliar on his tongue.

Instead of seeing a happy face slip onto Ryan’s features, a broken smile appears on his face and tears pool in Ryan’s eyes, and fall.

“Ray, don’t,” Ryan says.

It doesn’t sound like Ryan — too broken and too defeated to be his boyfriend. He's not real. Maybe he never was.

Ray lets his eyes flutter close. Maybe now's not the time to decide. He breathes deeply.

Ryan's hands are warm, and cradling his face, thumbs rubbing in tandem, going in circles that lull Ray deeper.

He loves Ryan, he really does, and even though he thinks the words have left his mouth, they don't feel real.

Ray breathes again, not really hearing the pleas and screams streaming out of Ryan's mouth. He sighs loudly, letting his thoughts take him into darkness.

Maybe nothing was real. It'd all make sense, really, that Ray couldn't say I love you, three simple words that everyone else on the planet seemed to be able to utter. 

It was all just a dream.

Nothing more, nothing less.

The thought reassures him, before tiredness takes it's toll, and he's gone.


End file.
